What Didn't Kill Me
by thatcherjoseph
Summary: Jane isn't like the others; for one, she's a girl. She's also smarter than all 62 Gladers combined, strong enough to put Gally in multiple choke holds, and hellbent on freeing herself from the maze. Her stubbornness annoys Newt to no end, and he'll never admit that he loves the sexual tension, but he does. Newt/OC
1. Chapter 1

(A/N: What Didn't Kill Me is set at the same time as The Maze Runner, but Jane will be the character in place of Thomas in the story (ie; the curious one who gets them out) and Thomas will be the character in place of Teresa. Confusing, I know, but bear with me.)

The ground beneath me is shaking violently and something metal is clanging hard against another piece of metal and things are loud and shaky and dark. The ceiling of the long tunnel above is approaching at a dangerously fast pace, ready to either swallow me whole or squash me flat. I stare at it for a few more seconds before coming to the realization that it is too far away to arrive any time soon, and so I look below. The box I am inside is rushing through a skinny, vertical tunnel at what seems like light-speed, ready to launch me somewhere when the ceiling opens; _if_ the ceiling opens. Silently, I pray that the ceiling will indeed open. Sometime in the next few nanoseconds, I decide I would rather die by human catapult than human-ceiling sandwich.

My mind begins traveling, searching for the reason why I have been put into this box. The knowledge in me feels like heavy pebbles trapped in my skull. There is a part of me that feels so full it might combust; full of knowledge, of mathematical equations and scientific reasoning and historical understandings. It is a part of me that feels all-powerful.

Then, there is another part: it is empty, void of any reason why I know 15,672 (and growing) digits of Pi or the quadratic formula or why the hell I can name every planet in our solar system, or in any of the 500 existing solar systems, in both alphabetical and sequential order, and backwards. I am also void of a purpose, of any relationships, faces, memories, and names. I feel like a naked soul in a body I do not belong in.

I am a girl. This I know for some reason. I am wearing clothes: a long sleeve shirt and pants that hug my ankles and they feel recognizable but I do not know why. Until now, I am unsure I have ever seen pants before. But these are pants. They have to be pants.

Something in the back of my mind begs me to find a weapon. I think it must be an instinct; that I must be wired this way. Some part of my brain, a part I have no conscious control over, senses trouble. Quickly, I glance around the small box. Besides my body, it is only large enough to fit a metal cylinder (which, for some reason, I can tell is exactly 7.2 inches in circumference) and two wooden crates of food. My mind illuminates at the sight of wood, and I crawl over to it. And then I am propping my foot against the top crate and pulling off a short plank, causing some fruit to fall. The end of the plank is not jagged enough to be a weapon, and so I make new edges, breaking it over my knee.

Too entranced with my tinkering, I do not realize the shaft has begun moving faster until a lump forms in my stomach, telling me it's time to hurl. And I am about to, but then the ceiling is finally here. There is a jolt and I am thrown across the box, headfirst into the metal cylinder sat in the corner. The box does not slow down at the sight of the ceiling like I hoped it would. Instead, it screeches to a halt just seconds before it can flatten me. For a moment, every organ in my body is uprooted, floating between my bones, and I feel disembodied. Then it is over and my intestines drop and scrunch up again and this time I am sure my insides are coming out.

I am too busy on my hands and knees in the corner, doubled over and dry heaving, to notice when the ceiling splits in two. The hum of voices starts low and grows as the beamed light in the box expands enough to encompass it fully. When the beam reaches me, it is time to look up. I wipe the saliva from the side of my mouth and squint out at a thick circle of figures, all hunched over, pushing to get a look at what's come up in this hole of theirs.

The doors of the hole are swung open and then a body is crashing in. It lands with a thump that rattles my bones, where they lay in a heap against the far wall. Only now does the exhaustion kick in, and suddenly I am content with not knowing my name or where I am just as long as I can go to sleep right here, right now, on this rusty metal cylinder. But then a voice comes, and my eyes snap open.

"It's…a girl."

The voice is accented differently than I'm used to, and although I have no recollection of ever knowing anyone British, I know this boy is.

Piles and piles of voices follow the observation.

"A girl?"

"What she look like?

"How old is she?"

"Is she cute?"

"I so got dibs!"

"Would you all shut your holes?!"

The last comment comes louder than the rest from a figure in front, cuts clean through the chatter and silences it.

Then, as my vision begins to clear of black dots, I see the British boy, now inside the box with me, in detail. He is tall yet elf-like, with big doe eyes and half a smirk. He falls into a squat and I instinctively flinch back.

"Hello love," He speaks. "Welcome to the Glade."

At his words, the vomit I'd been trying to puke up finally rises in my throat, and then I'm hacking and spitting it onto the floor. My mind is flooded with thoughts, questions, inquiries –but all I can grasp onto is the way the thick, yellow bile falls through the holes in the metal box and disappears into the thin air below. The people above are becoming rowdy once again.

The British boy makes no sign of disgust, merely observes as I collect myself and scramble to my feet. Standing is harder than I originally thought, and when I wobble, a hand clasps onto my forearm.

"Don't!" I suddenly screech, ripping my arm away. Our eyes catch for a moment, but his confused, doe-eyed gaze does not wither me. "Don't," I repeat.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he says, his hands up in surrender. "I know you just showed up in a dark box and you're scared. We get it. But we won't hurt you."

He steps closer to me and I step back toward the wall of the box. We stay like this, neither one ever deciding to break eye contact, for a while. I am next to speak.

"I don't believe you." My voice is hoarse, like I have not spoken in days.

"You have to," the British boy says. I almost laugh at this demand, but I am too cautious to let it slip.

"For Christs' sake, Newt," A new voice says from above, and then another body is slamming into the box right beside me. "Listen, princ-"

Before he has time to finish, I have the sharp side of my makeshift dagger pressing into his neck, his back against the wall.

"Woah woah w-"

"I want to go back down," I demand, staring into the new boy's eyes menacingly. He looks unfazed.

"Back down?" The boy chuckles and I feel it vibrate against the plank.

"And I want _you_ back on ground level before I shove this plank far enough into your neck that it snaps your spinal chord."

Our eyebrows rise in sync, but neither of us moves. Above us, there's a chorus of low 'ooo's.

"Hate to break it to you, babe," The boy begins, smirking, "But this box was your one-way ticket to hell and you ain't leaving anytime soon."

I growl. Between us, I have a handful of his shirt and I use it to pull him forward and slam him back against the wall.

"Alright, alright!" the boy called Newt yells, coming up beside us. He looks at the boy I am still manhandling. "Just go back up, Gally. Let me calm her down."

He gives Newt a shifty glare, looking unconvinced and displeased. Eventually, though, he shoves my grip off of his shirt and climbs out of the box obediently. As I glance up, I notice most of the crowd is beginning to disperse.

Somehow, I feel safer with only Newt in the box, and so I decide against threatening him and drop the plank to my side. He watches and curtly nods.

"You made that?" He asks. It is not on the list of things I expected him to open with, but I shrug nonetheless.

He releases a slow, quiet whistle.

"'It's quite well done."

"What are you doing?" I snap.

He seems taken aback. "I'm…making chit chat?"

"Let's skip to the part where you send me back down."

"Do you even know where 'back down' is?"

At my lack of immediate response, he nods. "You don't. I know you don't because I've gone through the exact same thing. All of us have. But what I _can_ tell you is that the only way you're gonna survive from here on out is by trusting us. You've got to."

Newt has taken control of the conversation, and it doesn't feel good, but I am at a loss for words. I do not want to leave the security of the box; the box I felt trapped inside only moments ago. But reason is telling me to trust the kid.

"Well, uh, I'm Newt. Do you remember your name?" His approach is cautious, like nudging a dead body with a foot to see if it'll move.

I don't know why I've made this comparison.

Slowly, I shake my head. "But it's here. Somewhere."

"No worries, then. It'll come within a day or tw-"

"Why don't I know my own name?" This is the first real question I ask.

Newt sighs. "You'll come to find most of your questions won't be properly answered. When we're put in the box, our memories have been wiped. Don't know how, don't know why. Luckily, names are the one thing they let us keep."

"Who's 'they'?"

"The Creators."

The title fits the situation. I imagine a man and woman in blindingly white lab coats, picking at my unattached brain in a petri dish.

Newt is looking at me like he expects a voiced response. His gaze is attractive, but I want it off of me.

"Okay," I say.

"Okay," He replies, letting out a long breath. I can tell I make him the slightest bit weary, and it pleases me even though he seems harmless. "Would you like to come up now? I'm sure those shanks are bloody itching to properly meet you."

After waiting moments for a response and not receiving one, he rolls his eyes and turns away.

"Just cooperate, would you, Greenie? We don't bite."

'Shank' and 'Greenie' are words outside of my terminology realm. In context, I understand their meanings easily, but I still wonder how such terms have assimilated into their vocabulary. Then, I wonder why I am wondering this instead of following Newt, who has already climbed himself out of the box and began through the grass.

By the time I reach him, he has already begun a monologue.

"-What we call the Glade, and there are currently 62 of us here, including you. And everyone's-"

I cut him off. "Currently?"

Newt seems agitated with my habit of interrupting him. "Currently. Ya gain some ya lose some. Glade keeps spinning. Anyways, everyone here's got a job. No jobs and things would get messy, so you do your part. We've got slicers, builders, runners, med-jacks, sloppers, cooks, and track-hoes." He counted them off on his fingers and then looked confused. "Yeah, thinks that's all of 'em."

He continues to talk, and as comforting as his low, accented voice is, I can't help but tune him out after a while. Then things start going fast.

I am introduced to a dark-skinned boy called Alby, who is said to be first in command just above Newt himself. The guy looks older than anyone I've seen, and is good at grimacing.

Then I am taken to every job section and properly introduced to its 'keeper,' who all seem jolly enough to meet me despite the circumstances. Frypan, keeper of the cooks of the Glade, passes me a bowl of slop when we come to the 'kitchen.' I have no intention of eating whatever it is, but I take it to be polite and sit down at an old picnic table with Newt. He begins another monologue, explaining more things about the Glade, but then I am struck with a sudden realization.

"Wait," I say. At this word, Newt seems surprised, as I haven't spoken since the beginning of the tour.

"Aren't there any girls? Are you all guys?"

Newt looks entertained. "Sorry, love, but you're the first girl ever delivered. Probably explains why everyone's sorta looking at you like meat, eh?"

I roll my eyes.

"_Pro-ba-bly_."

* * *

><p>What the boys call The Glade is ironically stunning. Long, vibrant grass, farm animals roaming about, and a forest of bare trees, appropriately titled The Deadheads, in the corner. If I had any inkling of a reason for my being here, the environment might have actually put me at ease. Unfortunately, this was all compromised by the four tall –so tall that they seemingly stretched into the clouds- walls trapping me here.<p>

A while after introducing us, Newt releases me into Alby's care, saying he has some "less important manners to attend to, but attend to all the same." I feel more comfortable with Newt, but I let him go and listen while Alby speaks, though he says little that I care about or understand. Despite my silence, he seems quite driven on insisting that we are all "family" here, and that no Glader should ever harm another Glader. I figure this is stemmed from my stunt in the box with the boy called Gally, but it still goes in one ear and out the other. I've already promised myself I'll do whatever is needed to escape, whether it's with or without this "family."

For the remainder of the day's sunlight, which was only a few hours worth, I am finally allowed to roam about on my own before tomorrow when I'll be evaluated on which job I'll take in The Glade. After walking nearly the entire perimeter of the place, I find myself at the opening of the gigantic doors both Newt and Alby had warned me about walking through. On the opposite side lay a ground of cracked cement and walls of ivy, stretching back into oblivion. For a moment, I wonder if there is a similar Glade on the opposite side, one we feud with. An old tale of star-crossed lovers flashes in my mind, but I cannot remember the title.

"Hey Greenie!" A near voice hollers, and suddenly I am being gripped by the shoulders and thrown 4 feet back. I have little time to notice the lack of breath in my lungs because I am immediately rushing to my feet. Gally is upon me in less than a second, pointing a finger in my face.

"I don't know who you think you are-"

"Gally, slim it!" Someone yells, interrupting him, and I don't have to look to know that Newt's arrived with a small army.

"But we oughta get one thing straight." The boy is almost yelling, almost spitting in my face.

I don't back up.

"You're a greenie, and greenies don't go 'round holding shuckin' daggers at peoples' throats and barking orders. So you're gonna hand your weapon over to me like a good little girl, and order will be restored."

Gally is smirking, holding his hand between our bodies, waiting for my offering. The plank feels heavy in my back pocket. I plaster a smile on my own face and reach back to grab it.

Then, quick as a striking snake, I have Gally's wrist in my grip and I am twisting his arm around until it's pinned against his back uncomfortably. He begins writhing, and the Gladers around us have their arms outstretched, slowly advancing and ready to attack.

"Hey!" Gally yells at me, and I stretch his arm upward until he is crying out in pain. Until now, I had no idea of my strength, or of my ability to put someone so easily into an arm lock. The juxtaposition must be funny looking, I think, considering the boy has at least 4 inches on me.

"Quiet!" I yell, using Gally as a shield and holding the plank out threateningly against the ever-imposing circle of boys. There must be about 7 or 8 of them. I only recognize Newt and Alby, the two in front.

"Now. I may be the only girl here and your ignorance at how to act properly in such circumstances is understandable. But you should get it through your skulls right this instant that I am not now –nor will I ever be –a puppet to you people."

Gally begins to squirm again, so I take the makeshift dagger and press it into the side of his neck until a drop of blood is drawn. He stills.

"Greenie, let the boy go," Newt says, his voice calm.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Newt."

"Okay we all need to-"

"Tell me what's out there!" I demand, cutting Alby off.

"Not yet," Alby says.

"You guys can't just keep me here!" I yell.

"We can't let you leave!" Alby says. "You need to get it through your shuck head that we're not here to buggin' hurt you, girl! All of us here are in the same boat."

"Then give me some answers!"

It's Newt's turn to yell. "We can't relive the last three years of our lives to you in five bloody minutes, alright! It would overwhelm the klunk outta you! Outta anyone."

I am tiring of the arguing; slowly realizing Newt must be the Glade's one and only voice of reason.

Suddenly, a loud boom erupts from behind us, followed by scraping that echoes off every wall. I jump and force Gally to turn with me, now pointing the dagger towards the opening in the walls. As I attempt to control my shaking, I watch as the two walls slowly creep inwards, lessening the gap between them. It is an unreal thing to witness, these absolute humongous slabs of concrete somehow moving themselves by way of just two gears on either side.

It takes a minute or two for them to finally meet, but when they do, its noise mimics a crack of lightning. Gally strains his neck to face me, where I stand behind him still.

"You get it now, do ya Greenie?" He asks.

I roll my eyes. Swiftly, I unravel his arm from my tight hold and move to stand before him. Once we are both steady, I send him a genuine smile and promptly knee him in the crotch.

I don't wait up to see him double over, but as I turn to head towards the beds, I hear the crack of knees on ground.

I can't help but smirk.

And, although I'm sure he'd deny it, I see Newt smirk too.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: omg you guys are really wonderful. The reviews I got on the first chapter were so so sooo sweet. Thank you guys so much! And to answer softball007's question, I'm basing Jane's appearance off of Analeigh Tipton, whose picture is in that little box over there. It'll be described further in this chapter and the next. Soooo enjoy!**

_The girl sitting before me is 9 years old. She has a familiar look to her: long, brown hair that I can imagine running my hands through, pointy collarbones I know she hates, one green eye and one hazel eye that you'd never notice the difference between if you weren't her own reflection. _

_ Her stare is blank, focused on the metallic table dividing us. When the door to my left opens, a woman in white enters, but the girl's gaze doesn't falter._

_ "Jane," The woman states calmly, "I need you to cooperate. I need you to understand the gravity of your participation in these experiments."_

_ The girl has yet to move, but I somehow know she loathes the woman in white._

_ "I need to see Newt," She says, blinking._

_ "Newt is unavaila-"_

_ "What are you doing to him?" With this, she violently scoots her chair out and stands, glaring at the woman._

_ "He's fine, Janey. You know we need him alive and well."_

_ "Don't call me that!" The girl screeches, darting out of the way and running for the open door. The woman is in high heels, but races after the child nonetheless. I rush to catch up with them both. _

_ By the time I'm out the door, the hallway is empty on both sides. But somewhere, a girl's distant voice is screaming for Newt, like he's the only thing keeping her heart beating._

"GREEEENIE!"

My eyes spring open at the screech, landing on the face of a boy hovering only inches above my own.

Instinctively, I yelp and try to sit up, accidentally head-butting the kid, then scurry back on my elbows. I am moving through dirt and leaves and it is only now that I realize I am not in the mass of cots and hammocks beside the Homestead, but somewhere in the middle of the Deadheads. The sky is still pitch black and starless.

"Quite the 'good morning' I get, eh?" The kid whines. He is sitting on his ankles a few feet away, rubbing his forehead.

"What's going on?" I ask, sitting up.

"Beats me, Greenie. Found ya out here walking about, knocking into trees and mumbling for Newty."

_Sleepwalking, _I think. It's unsurprising. The dream felt all too real for my body to not have taken part. Somewhere, a part of my mind wonders whether it was a dream at all, perhaps a memory rather.

Suddenly, my breath catches.

"Jane," I whisper.

"Who?" The kid asks.

"My name's not Greenie." I glare at him. "It's Jane."

His mouth stretches into a lopsided smile.

"Shame that."

"Shame?"

"Yeah. Too nice of a name to get replaced by Greenie for a month. But ya know. Life hands ya lemons."

It is only now, in the middle of the night, lying on the ground of the Deadheads with a kid I've never seen before, that I smile for the first time I can remember. It is lazy and tiresome, but it's there.

"You got a name then, kid?" I ask, lowering my guard.

"Right. My apologies, maiden. I'm called Cricket." His hand extends out to me and I take it. He shakes it for the both of us.

Cricket is probably younger than me, maybe 14 or 15, and he is tiny. His eyes, big and blue, swallow most of his face and hide behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He notices me examining him, eyebrows rising, but I don't mind.

"What are you even doing out here so late?" I ask.

"Ah," he scoots in a little, "You mean so _early_. See, there's a gathering of Luna Moth cocoons on a birch tree over that way, and I had reason to believe they'd be hatchin' tonight."

I raise my eyebrows, this explanation catching me off guard.

"And I'm guessing they didn't."

Cricket's eyes, once sad, liven up again. "You'd be right."

I smile again, letting out a long exhale and dropping down onto my back. For some reason, I don't think to ask him anymore about his bug-enthusiasm, or what I was mumbling about Newt in my sleep, and we just sit quietly. There are no stars in the Glade's sky, and I can imagine it's because it's not a sky at all, but I still map out the constellations in my mind (because for some reason, I know them all).

"Have you ever heard of Orion's Belt, Cricket?" I ask him.

"Er. Sounds familiar. 'S like a superhero thing, right?"

I am still smiling. I don't know why. "It's a constellation."

"A consta-what?"

"A constellation. A long time ago, people found pictures in the layout of the stars, and they named them according to Greek Gods and mythological events and stuff."

Cricket is quiet for a moment, and then says, "So…Orion's Belt is a picture in the sky?"

I sigh. "_A_ sky, yes. Just…not this one."

* * *

><p>When I wake the second time, I am again being prodded with poking fingers and the insistently hushed term "greenie." I expect to see Cricket hovering above me, expect that I have somehow been thrown into a time loop of last night, but it is Newt instead. Before I open my eyes completely, I catch a slight smile on his face as he stands, looking down at me. It is gone not a second later.<p>

He looks expectant of a reaction from me, but I ignore him and rub my eyes of sleep. Propping myself on my elbows, I glance around and notice I am back in the outdoor den of beds with many sleeping boys. The memory of walking back with Cricket after stargazing the night prior is fuzzy but there most definitely. Straining my neck, I scan the bodies for the owl-eyed bug-enthusiast.

"Uh, hello? Bloody nice of you to acknowledge my existence here, Greenie," Newt says, huffing.

My eyes roll for the billionth time. "My apologies, _your highness_. I'll be sure to get on my hands and knees next time."

"Good that." He clicks his tongue. "You looking for someone in particular?"

"What?"

"You were looking for someone just now."

Something in the back of my mind tells me that Newt isn't often disrespected. Silently, I wonder if it is better to be loved than feared in the Glade, if one cannot be both.

"Cricket," I say.

Newt looks surprised. "Little Cricket?"

"What time is it?" I ask, ignoring his question.

He checks a digital watch around his wrist. It seems weird to me that he has it.

"Bit before seven."

"And you woke me up a bit before seven, a bit before anyone else here is awake, to tell me what exactly?"

He smirks at me. I don't understand how he cans till be so keen on talking with me even after I've put him through a ringer.

"Not tell, darling. Show."

Without thinking, he reaches down to grab my hand, to lead me out my sheets, but retracts just before his fingers can touch mine. To play it off, he turns the reach into an act of itching his ankle.

This time, I smirk.

Newt leads me across the Glade in silence to the West Door, where we pause. I look over at him and see his face written in concentration, his tongue peeking between his lips. At the sight, something in me churns.

"Wow, look at that wall," I say. "Majestic."

His eyes move from scanning the length of the wall to my face, and he is trying –failing- at hiding a smile.

"Shut it, Greenie. This way." He turns and begins jogging, running his left hand along the vines covering the wall. I sigh and follow suit, silently dreaming of all the remarks I could be making.

A minute or two later, we stop after Newt's hand runs over whatever he'd been feeling for. I watch him peel away the vines on either side to reveal a small, mounted square. I'm sure it's a clear window, but it's dark enough on the opposite side for me to momentarily wonder if it's actually painted black.

"Our lives in the Glade all revolve around this," He says, still gazing into the window. He has moved aside enough to let me see too, but there is little to view.

"A window?" I ask. I didn't mean to be mocking, but Newt seems agitated at my remark.

"The _maze,_ Greenie. Quit the antics, this is serious."

His demands lead me to believe he is not the brightest Glader, or else he'd know better than to cross me. My mouth morphs into a smirk and I step in closer to him.

"Newt, darling," I say placing my palm lightly at the side of his jaw. He tenses, reaching up and grabbing my wrist. He is preparing for defense in case I move to harm him. But I don't, so we are stuck like this.

"I know it's a maze, and I know you've been here three years and have yet to map a way out, yet to find a clue, yet to even make a _theory_. So who's the one who has really lost sight of the goal here, Newty?"

He is staring into my eyes, and I can tell my words have little affect on his confidence. In the silence that follows, my anger fades and I see him. I see brown eyes that I can swear I've grown up beside, though I can't say I even know his last name. I see the determined look that I know he'd get when his mother refused his third bowl of cereal; the straight line in his lips that would set when his dreams turn rotten and he stirs in bed. The scenarios flash through my head in milliseconds, and suddenly I feel like crying.

"Keep looking at me like that," Newt says, breaking my concentration. His voice is raspy and unsure of itself.

It is not something I would expect him to say.

"Like what?" I ask.

"Like you don't hate me." He pauses, swallowing. "Like…like you know me, remember me. It feels good."

I sigh, dropping my head to avoid his gaze.

"I don't know. I think I do remember you. It's not-" I shake my head. "You just seem…familiar somehow."

Newt's grip on my wrist moves to my hand and he guides it down to hold between us. Instinctively, I tug out of his grip.

"You don't…do you not feel like that?" I ask, looking at him again.

He looks convinced for a split second, but then is back to denial.

"It's not possible," He breathes.

My eyes focus in on the window past Newt. His back is to it so he does not see the beast round the corner when I do, but he sees my eyes expand in terror.

As Newt turns, I round him, moving to nearly press my nose against the pane. The creature is entirely inhuman, more slug than anything, and as large as an elephant. The parts that aren't slug are mechanical: metallic arms and joints, spinning razors, metal teeth sharpened into knives. As it crawls through the alleyway of the maze, its legs move like a spider's, stabbing into the ground two at a time.

Behind me, Newt says something, but I don't catch it in light of what is unfolding through the window. The mechanical slug has laid eyes on me, and now its razors are zipping at light speed and its legs are racing towards us. Just before it slams into the wall, I gasp and jump back, stumbling into Newt.

The window shakes a bit where it's been hit, but otherwise remains perfectly in tact. Calming down, I feel my back where it's pressed into Newt's chest. His hands are holding tightly to my upper arms, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on the top of my head.

"I told ya you'd wanna step back," He says, chuckling. I can feel his chest vibrate against my body. The feeling is comforting but awkward, so I step away from him.

"I knew there was something you were all so scared of," I say.

He raises his eyebrows. "Did you now?"

"Of course. Every movie needs a villain, right? Every book an antagonist, every species a predator. Even experiments like these, I suppose."

"You think this is an experiment?" He asks.

"Why else would we be here?"

He smiles. "I have many notions, in fact."

"Spare me, would you?"

He deadpans. "Fine."

"You call them Grievers?" I ask.

"You knew?"

" 'S all anyone here talks about."

"Understandable, too," He says. "They're the reason why no one 'cept for the Runners go into the maze, and why even _they've_ gotta get back before sundown or else they're done for. You copy me?"

"I copy," I say.

Newt looks unconvinced. "You've had your eyes on those doors since the second I brought you outta the box, girl. I know what you're thinking and I can tell you're not quite keen on taking orders from others. But you _will_ behave when it comes to the maze."

I squint my eyes at him, intrigued at the challenge.

"You sure you wanna fight fire with fire, kid?" I ask.

Our bodies are closer now than before, but I can't say which of us has moved in.

"If it keeps you outta trouble and my Gladers outta danger," He says, and his voice is stoic but his eyes are glinting.

Something tells me Alby is normally the one in charge of problematic newbies, but that Newt has been assigned to me because he's considered the gentlest.

Similarly, something tells me that these boys have no idea how to handle a girl.

"I understand you and Ably are the leaders around here. And I also understand that you're not the leaders because you're built like leaders, but just because you came up in that godforsaken box first. But hear me when I say that you will not stand in the way of me getting out of here."

My words are sharp and Newt and I are nearly chest-to-chest.

My goal was to intimidate him, but he seems more comfortable than ever. Earlier, he was hesitant to even help me out of bed without permission, but now he is drawing his hand up and placing it under my chin. His gaze holds mine with ease as he whispers, "watch me."

I want to scream. I want to push him away and yell at him for being an idiot, for getting so comfortable in this paradise when there's an entire world outside of those walls; a world we were plucked against our will from; a world of mothers and father and sisters and brothers all waiting for us to come home. I want to knock out whatever peacekeeping chip the Creators have implanted in his mind and make him a fighter. I want to scream until my throat runs raw.

But I don't. I don't believe he, or anyone for that matter, would hear me if I did.

Instead, I just push his arm away from my face and back up, keeping his gaze all the while.

He smiles. "You're quite confident for a Greenbean."

I consider correcting him, telling him my name is Jane and not _Greenbean_, or Greenie or Shank either, but decide against it.

Some part of me wants to see if he'll remember it on his own.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I understand some parts of Jane's character could be confusing. She is meant to be superhumanly smart because of things in her past that will eventually be revealed, but she doesn't understand at first that her intellect is greater than others. She just thinks that whoever sent them to the Maze had installed all of this knowledge into everyone's heads, when really it's only in her's.**

* * *

><p>Keeper training begins shortly after Newt and I part. Alby finds me on my way back to the hammocks and intercepts my plans.<p>

"No more shut-eye for you, little lady. Glade's awaken," He says.

"Awoken," I mumble.

He rolls his eyes. "You'll be with Frypan first since cooking's the longest training of 'em all. Help him get lunch together and all that. After that, it's to the Builders, then the Medjacks, and then the gardens. I'll put someone in charge of getting you to each."

"What about Slicers and Runners?" I ask, remembering the list of jobs Newt had rattled off yesterday.

Alby looks away and sighs. "If that slinthead wasn't such a slinthead, he'd have known not to mention all the jobs right away."

He was mumbling about Newt.

"Honestly, I couldn't care less about slicing up pigs and goats, but don't spare me the spiel on running," I say, a bit annoyed.

"It's not for everyone, Greenie. Especially not someone like…"

He trails off and my eyebrows shoot up.

"Like a girl?" I ask.

He shrugs. I am more than ready to elaborate, but Alby interrupts my thoughts.

"We'll talk later, but now Frypan's waiting for ya. Go on."

Cooking is simple. It is all potatoes, beans, and broth. Frypan continuously teaches as the morning stretches into the afternoon, but I anticipate everything he tries to say. Silently, I wonder why he feels the need to teach at all. If all the Gladers are like me, then shouldn't they already be installed with this knowledge? It seems to me like Frypan and the other cooks have taught themselves this art from stark scratch, while I knew it before I even knew my own name.

The "kitchen" the Gladers have built is a long hut filled with makeshift counters and numerous pots and pans. All the cooking takes place in front of a line of controlled fires, which are constantly being fueled by kids coming in and out with piles of wood.

"Now, when you're done with that batch just take 'em off the fire and cover it. If you take them out of the water too soon they'll cool before we can slice them and ship 'em out," Frypan instructs. He is across the hut tending to a stew. I am watching the potatoes boil.

"Soaking them after they've already cooked through will just make them soggy," I say. "Potatoes retain heat better than most vegetables grown here, so draining them would be best."

Frypan stops what he is doing, along with the few others in the hut, and looks at me.

"And how do you know so much about shucking potatoes, Greenie?" He asks, some humor in his tone.

I shrug.

"I don't know. I just do."

No one in the kitchen argues, and I know it's because they're all familiar with having knowledge about obscure topics yet no explanation for it.

* * *

><p>Lunch arrives, finally ending my lesson with Frypan and the other cooks. I take my own lunch into the Deadheads for a few minutes of sanctuary, but am found shortly after by a boy called Callum, who claims he's been assigned to escort me to my building training. I sigh, scarfing down the last of my soup and opting to follow Callum without the usual resistance.<p>

I have just deposited my food tray at the back of the kitchen where the hoses lay and am following Callum back through the area of picnic tables when I overhear an interesting conversation. It is between two boys I do not know and have never spoken a word to, but they are discussing me.

"I'm just saying," the boy with his back to me says, his voice hushed as he leans over the table on his forearms, "figures the Creators would tease us by sending a girl but then make her butch as hell."

I stop dead in my tracks at the word "butch." Something about it plucks a nerve deep in my stomach and I am suddenly filled with rage. I catch the gaze of the boy on the opposite side of the table, eyes wide with guilt because he knows I've just heard what his friend has said. The boy is not unattractive –dark hair and piercing blue eyes. I watch as his head shrinks down into his shoulders a little.

"We don't know anything about her really," I hear him say.

"Did you not see her put Gally in an arm lock earlier?" The other boy retaliates. "Any girl stronger than a kid like Gally ain't really a girl. Not a good one, at least."

A force unknown to me propels my legs forward and then I am rounding the picnic table, stopping at the blue-eyed boy's side. When I look at the other boy, he gulps and sits back.

I keep his gaze as I slowly slip off my denim over-shirt. Underneath, I wear a baggy V-neck.

"H-Hey Greenie," Blue Eyes stammers, though I am clearly uninterested in him. I have not said a word and I'm sure neither of them understands what's happening. Thriving under their doe-eyed gazes, I cross my arms and grip the hem of my T-shirt, slipping it over my head and tossing it to the ground. Now, I stand before them in only a tight tank top –the last piece of clothing before my bra- and it does little to hide the boobs no Glader has ever even got a glance at before.

The two of them relish in the sight.

"My name's Jane. What's yours?" I ask the kid across the table. His eyes quickly shoot up from my cleavage.

"Uh, Gunner," He says.

I take my hair out of its tie and let it cascade over my shoulders, then bend a knee on the seat of the table beside Blue Eyes. I slap my hands on the middle of the table and lean over until my face is mere centimeters from Gunner's.

"Well, _Gunner,_" I say. The boy is breathing deeply, his breath fanning over my mouth. He is struggling to keep his eyes on my face. "If I'm so _butch_, good thing you're not someone I'll be kissing then, right?"

"What?" He asks, but I am already drawing away from him.

I turn to Blue Eyes, who seems in a trance, and grab a fistful of his shirt, pulling him up from his seat until he is standing just a few inches taller than me. Without thinking, I take him by the back of his neck and pull his mouth onto mine.

There is a collective gasp all around, but I am focused on making the kiss look as good as possible. I plan on having every Glader under my reign by the time I come up for air.

And halfway into the kiss, I'm sure I will, because somehow Blue Eyes has a clue how to kiss a girl. He moves around me, one hand gripping my face, and eases me back until I'm sitting on the table. Stepping over the table's attached seat, he positions himself between my legs and tugs my hips tighter against his. Somehow, our lips remain attached and slapping and, although I know the kiss is hot, I feel little for it.

I pull away from Blue Eyes a few seconds later, breathing deeply. There is no avoiding the multiple pairs of eyes attached to me; the corresponding mouths hung open. Despite this, the only pair I see are Newt's. He is standing a few feet behind Blue Eyes, arms crossed and clearly angry.

I know I should feel guilty.

Instead of apologizing, I hop off the table and turn to Gunner once more.

"I hope you squirm in your sleep tonight knowing you'll never get to do that with a girl, Gunner."

And then I'm collecting my clothes, pushing through bodies, and trying to get as far away from Newt's scorching gaze as possible.

* * *

><p>Somewhere in the midst, Callum catches up with me and reroutes my trek towards my next training destination. Neither of us speaks on the way but when we arrive beside the Homestead where bodies are working on a new hut, Callum turns to me.<p>

"Behave," He says.

I quirk an eyebrow.

"Gally can be an asshole, yes. But he's a nicer asshole without any daggers at his throat. Capisce?"

He doesn't wait for my response before turning and jogging away, and I feel weird without his presence beside me.

Unfortunately for me, the space is quickly filled.

"Quite the show you put on earlier," Gally says, his hands sharpening a knife between us.

"You mean the kiss or the arm lock?" I ask, smirking. "Or perhaps you're referring to the time I nearly snapped your neck in the box?"

"Well you're quite the showgirl then, aren't you?"

I roll my eyes, quickly tiring of the banter. Despite my earlier actions, I realize it's stupid of me to have made an enemy so quickly in the Glade –especially the enemy of a Keeper.

I grab at my back pocket and offer the makeshift dagger to the ginger-haired boy before me.

"Truce?" I ask.

Gally halts his sharpening and takes the plank from me, but doesn't look any more forgiving.

"Grab a hammer," He says.

* * *

><p>Nearly two hours pass before I see Callum again. I am drenched in sweat, having stripped down to only my black tank top, and sitting crisscrossed, raking a saw along a thick tree branch beside two other boys. I haven't spoken with them much but they do their jobs without staring at my body, and so I decide they are good company. Despite this, I still don't know their names.<p>

"C'mon Jane, Medjacks are ready for ya," Callum says, reaching down to lend me a hand. I take it and allow him to haul me up.

"How do you know my name?" I ask as we step in unison.

He shrugs. "Small Glade. I'm sure you'll be the talk of this place for a while, especially if you keep going 'round kissing whoever you want."

This sudden display of hostility catches me off-guard.

"Do we have a problem, Callum?" I ask him.

"I'm just saying. By being the only girl in a glade of boys, you've already got all eyes on you. No need to do all that. Anyways, two main Madjacks' names are Clint and Jeff. You'll see 'em."

I look to see we've arrived at a small building with a painted red cross on the wall. Callum takes my denim over shirt out of my hands and opens it up, waiting for me to slip my arms inside. I am confused but oblige nonetheless, listening as he continues to talk while I shrug on the shirt.

"Clint's the blonde, Jeff is the short black kid. They appreciate hard work and honesty but are definitely _not_ the nicest gentlemen you'll ever meet, so you might want to keep your clothes on this time. Good luck, Greenie."

And then he is turning and jogging away again before I can even compute his words. He is one of the oddest guys I have met so far and I cannot tell if I like him or not.

Medjacking is as easy as the last two jobs I've been to, if not easier. There are very few materials to learn with and most lessons end with me correcting either Clint or Jeff on something they've been doing wrong for years. They are skeptical of my knowledge at first, but eventually submit to my reasoning once they set aside their pride.

I decide I like the two of them, but highly resent the idea of becoming a Medjack. Briefly, I imagine having to patch up a kid who's been stabbed by a Griever, and nearly upchuck all over the floor. After admitting this to Jeff, he starts laughing.

"Good that. But you'll have to stop by sometimes and keep us updated with all that doctor stuff in your head there. Seems your brain was born to be a Medjack, but your heart just ain't in it."

"Or just my gag reflex ain't in it," I say.

Jeff laughs. "That too."

Our conversation is cut off when a shadow falls over the place. I look up to see Newt's silhouette in the dimming sunlight of the cutout doorway.

"Hey Newt," Jeff says, turning away from me, "What can I do for ya?"

"You're good, Jeff. I'm just here for the Greenie."

He is not happy.

"Aw," Jeff replies, "So soon? Was just warming up to the lady."

I smile and walk to Newt's side.

"Don't miss me too much." I wave and follow him out of the hut.

"Bye Jane!" I hear Clint and Jeff yell in unison.

Newt cocks his head, stopping his footsteps.

"What'd they say?" He asks.

"Bye."

"Bye what?"

"Bye me."

"Bye _Jane_?"

I freeze up.

"See, sometimes nice people respect newcomers by using their real names instead of things like 'Greenie,' but you-"

"Why didn't you tell me your name was Jane?" He asks, looking hurt.

I shrug. "Didn't think it'd matter."

"Of _course_ it matters!" He yells, grunting and taking my wrist, pulling me along as he begins trekking across the fields. "Man, you sure know how to pluck a guy's nerves."

"I wasn't trying to pluck your nerves, Newt," I say, struggling to keep up with his pace.

"Sure," He says.

"Where are you even taking me so goddamn quickly?" I am beginning to get agitated.

"To a meeting with Alby," He says.

"A meeting? What the hell for?"

"For you."

We reach the Homestead and I climb up the stairs after Newt, following him into a room with a hanging sheet for a doorway. Alby is inside, sitting on a small cot beside a poorly made nightstand. The room is all shabby wood panels and dim lighting, but surprisingly spacious.

Newt and I are both a bit out of breath.

"God, Newt, what'd you make her do, race you here?" Alby says, getting to his feet.

Newt and I respond in unison, but he says "no" while I say "basically." We glare at each other.

"So what's this about?" I ask. "I'm missing my garden training."

"You'll do your garden training tomorrow. Right now, this is a little more important," Alby responds.

"Get on with it then," I snap.

"Look, I know you're probably getting tired of hearing this, but you're the only girl here. The _first_ girl here. Which means, since we don't know all that much about your species-"

"Species?" I interrupt.

"-We're gonna have to lay some ground rules."

"What's this about, Alby?" I ask, irritated.

"What the shuck you think it's about?" Newt snaps.

"I think it's about _you_ sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, Newt," I bark.

"Oh is that so?" He responds.

"Alright, alright," Alby interjects. "We're not here to argue, we're here to get things straight. Greenie-"

"Jane," Newt quips. "Her name's Jane."

"Jane, whatever, your stunt with Holden at lunch today was…" He trails off for a moment, "Inappropriate."

I squint. "Who's Holden?"

"God, you didn't even know the kid's name?" Newt says.

"You had all the boys here distracted by just coming out of the shuckin' box, Jane, and they've got it even worse now that they've seen you…" Alby suddenly looks uncomfortable.

"Strip and bloody make out with some random kid," Newt finishes.

"What business is this to either of you anyway? It's my body. I can use it for whatever reasons I want to," I say.

"We're only doing this for the greater good. We don't want anyone getting distracted from their daily tasks, and drama between Gladers is the last thing we need," Alby says. "And, plus, there's over 60 boys here and ain't all of them good. And Newt and I can't keep track of every one of 'em at all times. I just don't want to see anyone try and take advantage of you, thinking your body's up for grabs and all."

"Will you get to the point already?" I ask.

Alby sighs. "As leader of this shuckin' Glade, I'm putting my foot down. No more sexual relations with Gladers."

Newt's jaw drops.

"I never bloody agreed to that rule," Newt snarls.

"Yeah? And what were you planning on doing, jumping her bones the second the meeting's over? You're the one who said we should have this meeting!" Alby says.

"Not so you could-"

"Whatever. Can I go now?" I say, interrupting Newt.

They both look at me in confusion.

"You're alright with this?" Newt asks.

I shrug. "Sure."

I step out of the room and descend the steps, listening to the sounds of close footsteps behind me. I don't address them until I'm 30 feet from the Homestead and they're still there.

"You gonna follow me all the way to go pee, Newt?" I say, turning around and stopping.

"I've got something to show you," He says.

"Thought you were mad," I say.

"I am. But it's important."

"I'm a little tired of following you around everywhere. And I've gotta pee. So I think I'll take a rain check."

"Don't be difficult, Jane. First couple days are never very independent for the Greenie. Got lots to learn." He is looking for validation in my eyes, but they remain unforgiving. "Just _come on_."


	4. Chapter 4

I let Newt walk on his own for a couple minutes before following him. Every few steps, he glances back to make certain I am still there, but continues ahead of me nonetheless. Each time he glances, I make a new funny face at him, but he refuses to show any emotion in return.

Newt stops in front of a wall far from any action in the Glade. As I approach, I see the cement of the wall has been chiseled to make out the name of every boy in the Glade, some even scratched out. I hate to think about what those scratches mean.

"Woulda done this earlier if you told me what your bloody name was when you remembered it," He says. "But you can do it now."

"I only just remembered it last night. Quit acting like it was some personal vendetta against you."

I take the tools from his hands and get to work on carving my own name into the wall, which I know is what he's brought me here to do even though he hasn't said it.

"We spoke this morning all by ourselves, plenty of time for you to say it. But you didn't. Chose to go blab it to that slinthead Gunner instead."

I glance over at him leaning his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His head is turned to watch me work and I don't mean to blush when his eyes catch mine, but I think I do.

I want to ask him why he cares so much about my stupid name; about me not running to let him know the second I remembered it. I want to ask him why he dislikes Gunner and if he'd heard what Gunner called me. I want to know a lot about him –everything, really. But I fear if I start asking, I may never stop.

"Why'd you kiss Holden, Jane?" He asks quietly. I look at him. He is looking at the ground.

It is a complicated question and I don't answer right away.

"Did it bother you?" I ask.

With his eyes, he tells me to stop being a bitch. I sigh.

"It's programmed into the human mind from the moment we're born to place women on a shorter pedestal than men, no matter the circumstances. And being the only girl here, I have to establish some dominance somehow. And none of you guys have been laid in years, can't even remember the last time you were, _if ever_, right?"

Newt looks confused yet intrigued. He's turned his body to me fully, now leaning on only his shoulder.

"Even if I can build a hut better than Gally, which _I can_, or if I know more about the human anatomy and how to fix it than Clint and Jeff combined, which _I do, _I won't be taken seriously around 60 guys_._ But I can have every kid in this Glade under my rule by simply getting too close to his face, by licking my goddamn lips and running my eyes over his body, and if that's how I've gotta become queen of this place, then so be it. After all, a queen is a queen, no matter how."

"So you kissed Holden to show the Gladers what they're missing out on?" Newt asks.

"I kissed Holden to show _Gunner_ what he's missing out on."

"Why Gunner?"

"You're just a fountain of endless questions today, aren't you?" I say, smirking. I'm having difficulty shaping the curve of the 'n' in my name into the cement.

"So I want to know things about you." He shrugs. "Sue me."

"You know everything already. All my intentions are bad, I'm hungry for power, and just as sex driven as you."

His eyebrows shoot up and he laughs. It's a sound I'd swear up and down that I've heard a million times before, but this time, it's new and beautiful.

"So you're not mad anymore?" I ask.

"No," He says, "But that doesn't mean I want you kissing any more boys and making them your bloody bloodhounds."

"A kiss would be overkill. I could flick my tongue and have half these boys on their knees."

"I doubt it," Newt says.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I drop the tools to the ground, abandoning the hook of the 'e', and look at him.

He is watching me closely.

I cock my head to the side and slowly close the space between our bodies, keeping our faces centimeters apart. His eyes flicker from my eyes to my lips.

"You sure about that?" I say against his lips, nudging his nose with mine.

"Bloody sure," He whispers.

"Mm," I purr, using my right hand to lift up his shirt a bit. My fingers run over the bare skin above his belt and I hear his breath hitch.

"Not fair, you only said your tongue," He groans, batting my hand away.

"You mean you want my tongue down th-"

"No!" He's suddenly realized his words. "That's not what I meant."

"Mhm," I hum, moving in and attaching my lips just below his ear. One of his hands moves to grasp my waist. My tongue flicks over the skin just before I nip at it, and he shutters.

I draw back and look him in the eye.

"I felt you shake," I say.

"I'm not on my knees, though."

I roll my eyes. "I was being theoretical, you_ shank_."

He smirks. "Slim it and finish your goddamn 'e,' Greenie. We've got things to do."

I do as he says, stepping away and picking up the tools.

"What things? I'm ready for bed already," I say.

"That's what I mean. Alby didn't think it was safe having you sleep out there with all the guys, especially not after the stunt you pulled today."

"So, what? You planning on banishing me to the Deadheads?"

"No." He laughs. "I told him I'd split up my room for you. I've got one just like Alby's. They moved another cot in there earlier."

"Sharing a room with you? Sounds weird. Won't everyone hate me for getting special treatment?"

He shrugs. "Who cares about everyone?"

"Well won't Alby wonder whether we're actually only sleeping?"

"Says he'll pop in for routine checkups. Speaking of the new rule, I don't get how you can be so…okay with it."

"Why not?"

"Well 'cause you just said-"

"I never said I planned on having sex with anyone."

"Well, you wouldn't have to have _se-"_

_"_Didn't I just say even a kiss would be too much?" I interrupt him.

"But you kissed Holden."

"For a good cause!"

"What bloody cause?"

"Because Gunner's an ass!" I shriek. "And he called me a name and boys don't call me goddamn names, Newt!"

He looks surprised at my outburst and I feel more than embarrassed. Groaning, I lean my forehead on the cool cement wall, hoping it'll tone my face down a few shades.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

I hand over the tools and walk away from him.

* * *

><p>The "washrooms" of the Glade are saddening. There is no door; just a hanging piece of cloth that can blow wide open with the weakest gust of wind, and the walls are made of imperfect bamboo sticks. I poke my finger through a fairly large slit between two of them and sigh.<p>

I don't remember ever actually seeing a real sink in my life, but I know this sink is not actually a sink. It's a bucket strapped to a tree trunk, equipped with a sagging hose. When I crank the valve that sits in the ground, there's a hissing noise and then the hose is whipping violently around the little building. I shriek and scramble to control it, the shooting water blinding my eyes and drenching my clothes. My attempt fails, and so I try to find the wheel again to shut the water off, but I can't see anything in the midst of the darkening atmosphere and raining water droplets.

"What in the heck?" Someone shouts, and then a body comes into view.

"Cricket!" I yell, smiling. He is about to smile back but then I'm stepping and slipping, pulling him down with me.

He falls onto me and we grunt at the impact. Then he's clambering off hurriedly.

"Where's the thingy?" He asks loudly above the hissing of the hose.

"I don't know!" I shout, sitting up and trying to tame it once again.

A few seconds later and the valve is finally squeaking shut, ending the perpetual rain. As the last few drops fall and the air clears, I wipe my eyes of gunk to see Cricket kneeling by the valve, soaking. His hair is matted to his forehead and his blue shirt sticks to his small torso. He takes off his glasses to clean them with his sleeves. We're both quiet for a bit, sitting in our own puddles.

"Uh, turn the valve too quick and the hose will freak out," He says.

I laugh. "Good to know."

"What are you even doing in here?"

At first, I don't really know how to respond. But something about Cricket makes me feel okay; like I can tell him anything and he'll take it to the grave with him. I find this feeling weird since I've only met him once before, and briefly at that.

"Newt told me I'm gonna be sharing a room with him from now on," I say solemnly.

Cricket looks confused. "And you're upset about this _why_?"

"I'm not _upset. _I'm just…ambivalent."

He looks dissatisfied.

"Sorry, sorry. It means unsure. Doubtful. Slightly suspicious. Get me?"

"Suspicious about Newt?" He laughs a little. "Greenie, before you got here, Newt was the closest thing this Glade had to a girl."

"Cricket!" I laugh.

"I'm just saying! He's too nice. He's nice to, like, everyone. And that's weird. He's like a cute little deer or something."

"Hm. Had me fooled. He says I get on his nerves."

"That's just 'cause you're a girl and you don't take anyone's clunk. That surprised us all, I think. Plus, he's gotta like you at least a little if he's gonna share his room with you."

"He's only doing that 'cause I'm a girl."

Cricket stands. "Well there you have it. Become a boy and all your problems will be solved."

After he helps me up, I smile. "Wow, what great advice you give, Cricket."

He looks content. "One of my many talents."

Before leaving, Cricket shows me how to properly turn the hose valve, warning me that he won't be my knight in shining armor if it happens again. Above the sink-bucket is a mirror that almost was. It hangs on the wall of the hut somehow and is sewn together with many pieces of mismatched glass shards. When I look for my reflection in it, my face is thrown over the many cracks and scratches, but it works nonetheless.

Although much older now, I still look very similar to the small girl from my dream. My hair is long, brown, and messy, falling just past my chest. Fifty percent of my face is made up of just my eyes, huge and bulgy and green. I don't enjoy looking at them. From my dream, I remember the 9-year-old's eyes were asymmetrical, one green and one hazel. I lean in to get a better look at my own, but it is too dark in the hut to notice any difference between the two.

I let out a long breath and splash some water on my face, but it doesn't do much for all the grime that's settled on my skin from working with the Cooks and Builders. Unfortunately, there's not a single bar of soap in sight. Silently, I wonder if the Gladers built their own rig for running water or if the Creators provided the hoses.

When I leave the washroom, I see the sun's gone down completely now. The Glade is quiet, boys only visible where there are lanterns lit. I look at the space between the beds and the Deadheads, dumbfounded at how I could've walked all the way through it without waking last night.

All of a sudden, a flash of light comes from within the bare trees, and then it's gone in a second. I am frozen where I stand, watching and waiting for the light to reappear. When it doesn't, I begin moving towards it. Six steps in and I see it again, a bar of light passing over the ground hastily, and then disappearing. I start running. From then until I arrive at the clearing of the woods, it happens every twenty-two steps for 2.5 seconds each. Sometimes the light scans over the tree branches, sometimes along the grass, once it even shined right into my eyes for what felt like minutes. I tear through the first few trees until I'm standing exactly where I'd swore it came from, but the woods are quiet and lightless.

I turn to leave the Deadheads and squeal at the sudden sight of Newt standing before me. He slaps his hand over my mouth, silencing me abruptly. His face is flushed in saturated yellow from the lantern he carries at his side, and he looks unhappy.

"Keep it down, Greenie. Normal people are trying to sleep," He says as I rip his hand from my face.

"Was that supposed to be a stab at my normalcy?" I ask, irritated.

"You tell me, running like a bloody loon into the Deadheads this late! And why are you soaking wet?"

"I saw those lights," I say feverishly, glancing around.

"What lights?"

"The _lights."_ I don't know how else to describe them. "You saw them, right? The lights, every twenty-two steps, two and a half seconds each."

Newt looks properly confused. "Greenie, I think you need some sleep before we shuckin' lose you for good."

I sigh but nod, letting him lead me out of the woods and back to the Homestead for the night.

* * *

><p>"Can I tell you something weird?" Newt asks, startling me in the darkness. It had been quiet for at least 10 minutes before that, and I don't know how he even knew I was still awake. We lay in different cots on opposite sides of the small room, separated by a wall of hanging cloth in the middle. I cannot even see the boy, but I can hear his breathing.<p>

"Can I make fun of you for it?" I respond.

He chuckles. "I hate you."

I expect him to go on but he doesn't.

"C'mon, now you've got to tell me."

"No, it's weird."

"_Newt._"

He doesn't respond.

"Don't make me come over there," I warn.

"Come over here then," He says, and I can practically hear the smirk he's wearing in his voice. Just before slipping into bed, Newt had given me his thin hoodie, saying I could wear it for the night since my clothes were drenched, and I tug it tighter against me now.

"Goodnight, Newt," I say.

He exhales long and loudly. "Night, Greenie."

The darkness drags on and, even though I am much more comfortable on this cot than I was on the ground the night before, I cannot bring myself to fall asleep this time. What seems like hours later, I am still half-conscious, switching between staring at the wall and my own eyelids.

"Jane?" Newt's husky voice cuts through the atmosphere.

I'm not certain about whether I'm dreaming or not, so I don't reply. Things feel muddy and I watch as the slits between the boards of the wall begin to melt together.

"I think I've been dreaming about you for a really long time," He says.

And now I'm sure this is reality.


	5. Chapter 5

(**A/N: wooo so this chapter's pretty cool. Lots and lots of foreshadowing ((basically, we're finally approaching the fun parts of the fic so yay)). I have almost a whole backstory made up for Jane and so hopefully I can execute it well here. If you have any questions regarding the events in this chapter ((because tbh they get kind of confusing)) leave me a review and I'll get back to you! Btw all of your reviews have been so so sooo bloody wonderful and I really super appreciate every single one. You guys are really really cool little munchkins and I'm grateful for every single one of you. Okay so this is longer than I meant it to be so… mm enjoy the chapter babes) **

_**(Newt POV)**_

Sunlight is finally beginning to beam through the panels in the walls and I watch as dust swims delicately in the light. I've been awake for hours.

Because she's _right there_, right on the other side of this goddamned sheet, less than ten feet away. She's sleeping and not having a single thing to do with me. And I'm in the same bed I've always been in, the only bed I've ever known, in the same room in the same Glade surrounded by the same bloody walls and yet, somehow, everything about it feels foreign.

There's a window on her side of the room. It overlooks the bed and, just as my watch flicks to 6:04 a.m, the perfect sunray creeps into it. The thin sheet between us is illuminated in bright white, and through it I can just barely glimpse the curve of her waist underneath the blanket. It's quite possibly the best curve of anything I've ever seen.

She evokes feelings in me I've never known to exist. Yesterday, a chill skipped down my spine as her breath hit my ear, and I didn't know the human body could do that without the temperature actually dropping. I'll watch her talk and have sudden urges to touch her, to feel her skin and the edges of the bones beneath it, to know that she is actually real, actually here with me. The thoughts I have about her are so unfamiliar; they make my stomach turn and my knees wobble. She is a complete map of uncharted territory.

I force myself to turn over, feeling guilty about my thoughts –the same thoughts that pace my mind like a racehorse anytime I keep my eyes on her for more than three seconds. And I don't know if that's normal.

Within the next half hour, the sun drifts higher in the sky to shed its light on less important things, like growing crops and blistering skin. I frown at the sheet left opaque in its wake.

The duties of the second-in-command will me to get up and dressed before Jane awakens. Shamefully, I consider peeking around the sheet to see her briefly before I leave, but shun myself for the thought and walk out the door.

* * *

><p><em><strong>(Jane POV)<strong>_

"Doesn't gardening ever get boring to you?" I ask Callum. I am knee-deep in a mud pit a few feet from him, digging for worms with my fingers.

He smirks at me as he weaves a vine over a trellis delicately. "You don't like digging for bugs with your hands?"

I stop what I'm doing. "Don't you think it's weird?"

"What?" He asks.

"This. Being trapped by a maze in a place without a real sky and where goats get delivered from a metal box that goes six thousand miles per hour. And yet, you're stringing flowers up a wall and I'm digging for worms."

He's placed a hand upon his hip and ceased his finger work. "Your point?"

I groan. "I wanna _do_ stuff. I wanna be a Runner."

"Trust me, you don't."

"I do."

"You don't know anything about Running. No one _chooses_ to be a Runner. It just gets thrust on the strongest of us. But none of 'em like doing it, that's for sure."

"Well who can I talk to that'll actually take me seriously?" I ask.

He rolls his eyes. "_I'm_ taking you seriously."

"Well you're just a Gardener so you don't really count."

"You wanna risk your neck everyday and be a Runner, then take it up with Alby or Newt. But you'll just hear different versions of the same lecture."

"Fine, I will."

"Fine. But do it _after_ you go fill up the fertilizer." He chucks a bucket at me and gestures toward the Deadheads. I grimace.

* * *

><p>Today is the hottest of the three days I've been in the Glade, and so I've been doing my work with only my tank top on. But here, within the shade of the Deadheads, I shudder with chills.<p>

I don't even know where to find fertilizer. Callum's words pace my mind: "Through the bushy Oak trees, round the firewood pile, follow the marked trunks." I've passed three red-marked trees and am still trekking through dirt and leaves. I try to recall the amount of trunks Callum mentioned, but no number surfaces in my mind.

After the fourth marked tree, I find myself on the path beside a mini cemetery with headstones of wooden crosses. Just as I bend down to read the name scratched across the closest one, I'm startled by a noise behind me.

I jump to my feet and turn to see a boy standing down the path a bit, his fists balled and his eyes bloodshot. Briefly, I am surprised by my ability to notice his reddened eyes from such a great distance, and the realization frightens me.

"You scared the crap out of me," I say, straining a little chuckle. My attempt to lighten the mood fails as the boy decides against responding. He is dressed in a dirty white shirt and a pack over his chest that only Runners wear. I don't know his name, but I remember seeing him jog out of the maze doors yesterday before sundown.

"Shouldn't you be in the Maze?" I ask, desperate for a foothold of normalcy. This time, his only response is the sound of his breath quickening. It is ragged and loud and stands the hair on the back of my neck straight up.

"Are you okay?"

At my words, something in his demeanor changes, and I know he's about to lunge for me. Before he can, I take off in the opposite direction. I'm only running for a few seconds before he's tackling me to the ground from behind. Underneath his weight, I squirm to lie on my back so I can face him. He has my legs pinned beneath his knees and my torso stapled to the ground, my left arm held above my head.

I cannot stand to look at him for more than a second. He is disgusting up close, all veiny and yellow. His mouth is bloody and frothing, and there is only red where the whites of his eyes should be.

He is preaching nonsense at me, spitting as he says, "you did this," and "I saw you," over and over.

"What are you doing?" I shriek at him, trying unsuccessfully to keep the blood from dripping onto my face.

"It's your fault!" He shouts, coating my face in his spit. He uses his left hand to pull the hemline of my shirt up, and if the warning signals in my head weren't already sounding, they definitely are now.

"Stop!" I yell, desperately attempting to keep my shirt down with my one free hand. Soon, he becomes frustrated with my resistance and grabs it from the middle. With a single tug of his fist, my tank top is ripping open with a clean slit on the left side.

"It's here, it's here," The boy mumbles, his words drowning in his spit. He begins scratching at my bare skin through the hole with his fingernails and I cry out in pain.

"It's here, it's here," He says again, the cuts deepening by the second. There's a filthy film of mucus covering his teeth and as we writhe, some drips onto my cheek.

In a moment of desperation, I force my head up to look at my raw skin beneath his fingers, but glance an array of black lettering where my pale skin should be. I don't have the time or competence to consider what the letters say or why they're on my body. Flailing, I reach to the side and grab the first solid thing my hand flops on top of: a deer skull. I smash it into the boy's temple quickly. He wails and is off of me for a second but then grappling for my ankles as I jet to my feet.

Running for my life with him hot on my heels, I scream as loud as I can for help, hoping the Glade will hear before the boy tackles me again. In an instant, he's on top of me and we fall, rolling violently down a hill of twigs and dirt. Once we hit the bottom, I am up quicker than he is and running, but the footsteps behind me are getting louder. Just as I pass the clearing of the woods, we go down again and the boy's hand is at my throat this time. He's grunting that he wants to kill me but a herd of Gladers are already sprinting towards us. Newt and his shovel get there first and then he's swinging, smashing the blade into the boy's head, and sending him onto the ground beside me.

I can't breathe.

My throat feels like it's on fire and only now does the pain in my skin resurface. As many of the Gladers lean over the demented boy, trying to get him to still, I fumble to resituate my shirt so the lettering over my ribs is hidden. I still don't know what it says, but I decide it would be best to read it alone.

Newt leaves the boy to the other Gladers and kneels at my side. I rest back on my elbows, breathing deeply.

"You're bleeding," He says, eyeing the dark splotch visible even through my black shirt. "What did he do?"

I shake my head, my throat too sore to talk.

He nods sympathetically, tracing a circle on the back of my left hand.

* * *

><p>Newt and Callum lead me to the Medjack hut where Jeff meets us with inquisitive eyes.<p>

"Hey guys," He chirps. "Heard some sort of ruckus out there. What happ-"

He drifts off as his gaze travels to the rings around my neck and the blood on my shirt.

"Here here here," He says hastily, moving to set up a bed for me. Newt and Callum try to help me onto it, but I swat their hands away.

"It's only some scratches," I say to Jeff, my voice hoarse.

He squints suspiciously. "Who did it?"

"Ben," Callum says.

"Bloody wanker," Newt adds. As I look at him, it's easy to imagine steam spiraling from his ears.

Clint approaches my side with materials on a tray.

"Why?" He asks.

"Got bit," Newt says.

The boys' eyes go wide.

"It's the middle of the day!" Jeff exclaims.

Newt shrugs. "Can you just fix her? She's in a lot of pain."

"I never said that," I say, rolling my eyes.

"You're gonna have to lift up your shirt," Clint says.

My breath hitches.

"I'm out," Callum mentions, walking out the door.

"I can put the stuff on myself. I know how to do it," I respond nervously, glancing at Newt. I don't want any of them to read the lettering on my skin before me.

"I think you're making her nervous, dude," Jeff tells Newt.

"Me?" He asks, looking at me. He is waiting for me to resent the statement.

I shrug. "It's okay, Newt. You can go."

He seems sad at my words but obliges nonetheless. Before walking out, he places a long kiss on my forehead.

After he's left, I wait a few seconds to make certain he's out of earshot before speaking.

"You can't tell anyone," I say.

They look confused but help as I struggle to lift the shirt over my head. Once it's off, I lay on the bed in only my bra and pants.

The two boys are staring at the tattoo on my ribs.

Before I can even glance down at it, Jeff says, "Subject B seventy-one. The catalyst."

He's recited the tattoo.

"Don't tell Newt," I say.

I look down. In fairly large, block lettering hidden just beneath the wire of my bra are the words:

_**Subject B-71**_

_**The Catalyst**_

* * *

><p>After promising Jeff I wouldn't mess with the gauze around my chest until after he's checked it tomorrow, I go straight to the washroom and tug it all off. I rip and pull and unwind until my fingers come back bloody, but the words on my body are what hurt the worst. I feel disgusted at the label of a subject, at the label of a catalyst for something I don't even know about. I don't want to be the catalyst for the fall of the Glade, but it's all I can think of.<p>

In a moment of anger, I start the hose. The water is freezing against my bare body but all I can feel is the burn of the letters on my skin, like they were inscribed only yesterday. I watch as the water licks the cuts clean, running pink down my legs. It washes away everything but the words. My hand comes up and then I'm rubbing and scratching at them, trying perilously to get them to fade. But they stay solid in my river of desperation.

I don't remember feeling sad but a minute later I'm sobbing on the sopping ground. The water runs incessantly over my fingertips and they've turned bright purple, but I can't find the strength to move them. I'm not even sure if they're cold or if they've always been this color. Something doesn't feel right.

The skin of my hands has sunken into my bones, laying like stretched fabric atop them. My veins are everywhere, covering nearly every inch of my pale flesh in green-blue vines, and everything in the hut has been washed in a gray film. I blink, but nothing changes.

A stinging erupts on the side of my head and I feel like screeching, but then reality dips away. In a second, I'm transported to a room blue with shining computer monitors. When I look at my hand, I can tell it's back to normal even though the scene won't stay solid for anything over a second. It is fuzzy and glitching, flashing between the landscape inside the washroom and the room with the computers.

Without an idea of what's going on, I try to stand but find that the joints in my legs are too brittle to unbend without breaking.

"Stay still," Someone says, and I cannot see the bearer of the voice but I know it's Newt.

"Why?" I respond.

"Always curious, never submissive. Drives you mad," He says.

"What does?"

A sigh. "The _questions_."

"Where are you?" I ask.

"Are you dreaming?" He responds. I mull over the question for what feels like hours, but cannot bring myself to remember anything from over a minute ago.

"Did I fall asleep?" I ask.

"You fell in the river."

My mind flashes to the image of my fingertips turning purple in the flow of ice water.

"A river of what?"

"What's your blood type?" He asks.

"O Negative."

"A river of O Negative."

I imagine myself soaring from a castle of rock to land in a shallow fountain. My skull smacks against the cement ground and, later, a maintenance man will drain the water because it's turned a sickly shade of crimson.

My face hardens.

"Will I sink?" I ask.

He exhales, long and slow. "You float."

At his last word, the scene glitches for a final time, landing me permanently in the washroom of the Glade. The hose is still running over my fingers but they're not nearly as purple as I remember, and the sun's gone down. Slowly, I lift myself up (with the fear of my joints snapping) to shut off the valve. In the mirror, my face is red and puffy and it's then that I realize I am all alone.

Newt is not there. He has not come to reprimand me. He has not come to ask of my blood type. He has not come to save me.

And it pains me to think it, but I think I wish he had.

* * *

><p>I walk back to the Homestead after drying off and wrapping the gauze back around my body. I still wear the torn shirt from earlier and my pants are soaked from my actions during the weird trance I just escaped from. I know I should be thinking more about it, considering what the hell it was –a dream, a hallucination, my own imagination manifesting itself before my eyes –and what it means. Instead, I choose to push the incident to the back of my mind and pray that no one will recognize my current post-breakdown look.<p>

Newt returns to our room that night just minutes after myself, and finds me on his cot in a tangled mess of limbs. My right elbow is just nearly through the armhole of my shirt and my neck is only partially visible. I'm unsure of where my left arm is but I know it's uncomfortable, and I hang off the bed just barely, trying desperately to get my tank top off without stretching the stitches Clint sewed into my ribs.

"Jane?" Newt says.

I make a muffled "mmph" in response, re-situating myself.

He chuckles. "You alright then?"

I nod but cannot help myself from the hopelessly obvious entanglement I've become.

"You need help?" He asks.

"No," I say, shaking my head.

He approaches the side of the bed and I halt my squirming.

"It's alright to ask for help once in a while, you know," He says.

I sigh and untangle myself back into the shirt, giving up.

"Can't even take my own bloody shirt off," I moan.

Newt chuckles and delicately lifts me up from the bed to stand before him. He's looking at me like he's falling in love, and I look at the floor.

"I like it when you say _bloody_," He says. I have to clench my jaw to keep from beaming. I don't mean to admire the boy after only three days of knowing him, but he's wormed himself under my skin somehow.

"No funny business," I say, and turn to face the opposite wall so he can slip my shirt up for me.

I hear him step toward me and feel his fingers slip under the hem of my shirt on both sides. His hands are warm against my frigid skin.

He hasn't made any more moves to lift my shirt up, but his breath is getting hotter against the back of my neck. Then, one hand is slipping out from under my shirt to move my hair aside. Two fingers begin tracing a specific line on the side of my neck, back and forth. When he speaks next, his words are nearly inaudible.

"God, I'm sorry," He says.

"It's okay," I whisper.

"I've never-," He pauses, "We've had fights in the Glade before. Like, good and proper brawls, but I never really feel sorry for anyone or get too mad about it or anything." He swallows. "But with you…it's different. I see these rings on your neck and I wanna kill Ben, and I've never felt like that before."

"You wouldn't kill him," I say. At the moment, I'm grateful for the circumstances so that we can have this conversation without looking in each other's eyes. I'm staring at the wall.

"God," He murmurs, and then his lips are brushing the side of my neck.

I shiver.

"I'm sorry," He whispers, planting a small kiss.

"It's okay," I repeat, leaning my neck into his lips.

"It's not," He says. Both hands are back on the hem of my shirt, and with every kiss he plants, they inch it upward.

"You're breaking the rules," I say teasingly. "No sexual relations."

He releases a breathy chuckle onto my skin.

A moment later, the shirt is finally coming up and over my head delicately. After I hear him chuck it to the side of the room, I walk to grab the V-neck from my cot and return to him.

There's a slight smirk to his lips that keeps my teeth gnawing at my bottom lip. I hand him the shirt.

His lips return to my skin, my jawline now.

"This one might take a little longer," He whispers at my ear, and I chuckle, pushing him away.

He easily slips the shirt over my form and I smile up at him.

"Goodnight," I say.

With stars in his eyes, he sighs. "Goodnight."


	6. Chapter 6

It's another night that I cannot sleep all the way through. When I wake, the room is dark, bathed in a foggy glow and chirping with the hum of crickets. The sound is soothing at first, nearly lulling me back to sleep, but it slowly gets louder. As I gain more consciousness, the noise begins to sound less like crickets and more like scraping metal. It has gotten so loud that I cannot believe Newt is still in bed.

Movement in the room catches my eye, and I sit up to see an insect crawl through the little square window to my left. It inches down the wall and over the foot of my cot, disappearing as it crosses the threshold between my side of the room and Newt's. I am about to follow it, but then another one appears in the window. When the third one crawls in, I move to get a better look at it, and realize it's an itty bitty Griever, smaller than the size of my palm. Soon, they're coming in packs of ten or fifteen, and I have to jump off my cot to make sure none of them tread over my feet.

They move like robots over the panels of wood and for a while I am too mesmerized to make any sense of them. Slowly, I begin to follow their trail, pushing aside the hanging blanket.

I'm horrified to see the Grievers swarming Newt's still body. There's a straight line of insects crawling into his open mouth and another into a bloody hole in the middle of his stomach. Some make their way into two blackened sockets where his eyes should be, and it's only now that I realize Newt is not sleeping, but in fact dead and _rotting_.

_**(Newt POV)**_

Jane's screeching scares me awake in the middle of the night. It's a retched sound that has me stumbling clumsily out of my cot as quickly as possible. Briefly, I wonder what's got her so worked up, and fear that I'll move aside the sheet to see an intruder with his hand wrist-deep in her chest, her heart squeezed in his fist.

It's _that_ kind of wail.

When I push aside the sheet, I see her thrashing about so violently that I doubt I can stop her without getting a fist to the face.

I yell her name but it's no match for the volume of her screams.

I huff in frustration. I need to get her to shut up before she wakes the entire bloody Glade. Or worse_, Alby_.

I muster all the 4 a.m. strength I have and wrestle her body on the bed, moving to straddle her waist so she can longer kick. Once I've caught both her wrists, I pin them above her head and shout her name again. This time, she finally quiets her shrieks.

A moment later and her eyes are springing open. Once they settle on my face above her, they brighten like a combusting star.

"Newt," She breathes, and then she's bolting up and wrapping her arms around my neck.

I am startled at first and the hug is momentarily awkward, considering I am still sat atop her legs. But once I reciprocate, wrapping my own arms around her tiny waist, she nuzzles her head into my neck and I'm suddenly certain that I've never felt more content in my entire life.

After a few minutes, she tries pulling away, but I am greedy. I tug her tighter against me and she sighs but doesn't fight it. Speaking into my neck, she tells me, in vivid detail, about the nightmare she had. And, although her voice is hesitant, proceeds further to admit the two hallucinations she's had and spends extra time describing the way my voice changed when I said _float _in her vision.

We talk until the room is saturated in yellow, and even past then. It's only when my watch beeps at exactly 7 a.m. that the conversation halts.

Before I leave for the duties of the second-in-command, I give her a hasty kiss on the cheek and don't wait up to see the resultant blush that I know she'd never admit to anyway.

* * *

><p><em><strong>(Jane POV)<strong>_

I have little to do during the day since my Keeper meeting isn't until after dinner. Newt has told me that I am to report to the Homestead at 5:45 that evening, along with almost every Keeper in the Glade, to determine which job I will take permanently. Luckily, Cricket, as a Slopper, has little to do during the day as well, and I choose to follow him around during his errands.

"They're just dreams, Jane. They can't mean anything," He says, the bucket he carries banging against his legs as he walks. We've been told that someone had the decency to bring one of Frypan's pots into the Deadheads to use as a toilet and left it there. The duty of bringing the pot to justice has been assigned to Cricket.

"But they _can._ Those people wiped our entire memories, for Christ's sake! I wouldn't say tinkering with our brains is necessarily beneath them," I argue. I've been hung up on yesterday's hallucination in the washroom since it happened, and even further confused by the dream I had last night.

"Well if you can't figure out what they mean then what's the point of the Creators making you have them?"

"I think they're trying to tell me something," I say.

"Then why can't they just tell you?"

"It's an _experiment,_ Cricket. Obviously I need to figure it out myself."

"Like a puzzle," He says.

"A sick one," I say.

"So, so far we've got: dancing lights, computer monitors and the word _float_, and…little baby Grievers?"

When Cricket says it aloud like that, I begin to believe I'm going insane. Despite this feeling, I still carve the word _float_ into the nearest tree trunk as Cricket cleans up the poop pot.

"It's _got_ to mean something," I mumble.

* * *

><p>5:45 rolls around and I am the last person of importance to walk through the door of the Homestead. Everyone stares as I take a seat.<p>

"Finally. Fry, you start," Gally instructs, pointing to the aproned boy across from me.

"The shebean could easily be a cook," Frypan says, looking my way. "Probably knows more about food than I do, and that's saying something. I don't know what's going on in that head of hers but it's working a mile a minute. And not just about food, either. Anyways, she's got my vote for the Cooks, if she wants it."

I smile at him, but I don't favor cooking at all.

Zart is next to speak. "Girl's got my vote for gardening, too. I only had her digging up worms and stuff but I'll be shucked if she didn't do three times better than any other Greenie I've seen. Her training was even cut short by the thing with Ben, but she still dug up more than 50 worms in an hour, and that's a hell of a lot."

All eyes shift to me as his speech ends.

I shrug. "I know where they like to dig. Besides, it had just rained. It was easy. No biggie."

As if on cue, little pelts begin to sound against the tin roof of the Homestead, and almost everyone in the room sighs.

Jeff speaks next, and I can tell he's saying things similar to the two before him, but I am no longer listening. I'm looking at Newt across the room. He has one shoulder leaning against a pillar and his arms crossed over his chest, a concentrated look on his face as he watches Jeff talk animatedly. His eyes flip over to meet mine and he smirks, assuming he's caught me in a trance. But I don't look away.

"Jane, hellllllo?" A hand waves in front of my face and I jump in my seat.

"I was talking to you," Gally says, his hands on his hips.

"Oh, what?"

"Everyone's done talking. You've got a choice to be anything you want. Cook, Track-hoe, Med-jack, or Builder.," Frypan says.

"Which has never shuckin' happened before," Gally mumbles.

"So what's it gonna be?" Jeff asks, leaning forward on the elbows he has balanced on his knees.

I ponder my choices for a moment, but none of them seem ideal. The only job I can imagine having is the one I haven't been offered. And I've known this for a while.

"I wanna be a Runner," I say.

Gally and Frypan are in immediate fits of laughter.

"What?" Newt asks above the howling.

I shrug. "No one ever let me try it, but I think I'd be good at it."

Newt chuckles a bit now too, and my blood begins to boil with the sound.

"Of course you'd be good at it. You're good at everything. Doesn't mean I'm gonna let you do it."

The laughter has now ceased completely.

I stand up and begin walking toward him. "I don't think that's your decision to make," I say.

He steps closer to me. "Well _I_ think that you're a greenie and I'm second-in-command. So I make decisions for you."

I smirk. "Fine. Make the decision. Make me a goddamn gardener and see how long it takes for you all to get yourselves out of this hell. It'll be the biggest mistake of your sorry little life here, Newt."

Before he can respond, the door to the Homestead flies open. In it's place stands a boy of good height, his face twisted in anxiety.

"Matt, you can't be in here. We're having a Keeper meeting," Newt says.

"I know," The boy replies, his words punctuated with heavy breaths. "But the doors are about to close and Minho and Alby still aren't back."

* * *

><p>"What's Alby doing out in the Maze anyway?" I ask Newt.<p>

It's pouring, but nearly every Glader has come out in the rain to huddle around the humongous doors of the Maze, anxiously awaiting the return of two people they may never see again. Newt and I stand side by side in the front of the mob.

I look over at him. His hair, dark and dripping, is matted to his forehead and his face is written in concentration.

He doesn't look at me.

"All the Runners quit this morning after seeing what happened to Ben. 'Cept Minho. So Alby went out to help him."

I look closely through the walls of the Maze, having difficulty understanding how everyone's so content with waiting on the outside.

"They're going to die if someone doesn't do something," I say, frustrated.

Newt's face hardens. "They'll make it."

"Well what if they don't? Are we all just gonna sit around waiting to hear their screams of agony during the-"

"_Jane!"_ Newt bellows, finally turning to look me in the eyes. I've never heard him snap so loud. "They're gonna bloody make it!"

"There!" Someone from the back yells, and I turn to see Minho finally come into view. He's stumbling along slowly with Alby strung across his back.

There's an echoic boom and then the doors are moving and everyone in the crowd is yelling at the top of their lungs for Minho to make it.

But he's not going to and it's obvious. About halfway to the doors, Alby slips off Minho's back, falling lifelessly into a pile on the ground. Minho, grunting with exhaustion, tries desperately to pull him along, but the effort is useless. Alby's too heavy.

The doors are getting closer and closer to shutting completely, yet no one's moving to help.

"They're gonna get stuck out there!" I shout at Newt.

He doesn't hear me. He's too busy yelling to Minho.

"We have to do something!" I shout. This catches Newt's attention.

"Don't you even bloody think about it, Jane!" He yells, snaking his grip around my wrist.

I cannot stop gazing at the negative space between the doors and the ever-growing lack of it.

"Then do something! They're about to close!"

He's not doing anything. _No one's _doing anything. I cannot understand.

My mind is exploding with visions of what may happen if no one does anything. _Awful_ visions. Unless they make it through the doors in the next 5 seconds, they're dead. And there's no sugarcoating it.

I have to do something.

Without thinking, I take off between the walls just before they close. Newt doesn't have the reflexes to pull me back and his grip drops easily. But he's shouting. Everyone is. They're calling my name like I've just sacrificed myself.

But then the doors are booming shut and I'm standing on the wrong side and thinking _goddamnit, maybe I have._

"Great going, shuckface," Minho says, gasping for breath. "You just killed yourself."

"What?" I say.

Minho drops onto his butt, leaning back against the wall of the maze tiredly.

"Why the hell would you do that?" He asks.

"What the hell is your problem?" I snap. "I was trying to help. You'll die out here alone."

"I'll die out here with you too, Greenie. What did you think? That you'd run out here and fight off the Grievers by clawing them to death with your fingernails? You're _useless_ out here."

By now, I am seething, ready to punch this self-righteous kid square in his face. But I need to stay calm.

"What happened to Alby?" I say. The dark-skinned boy is lying unconscious with skin all bruised and swollen.

"What's it look like?" Minho replies. "He got shucking stung. Ain't just laying there for fun."

_Okay._

I reach down and grab a fistful of Minho's wet denim shirt, pulling him up to eye-level with me.

"Listen, you arrogant, egotistical piece of klunk. I get that you're frustrated and trying to look like you're anything but _scared out of your mind_ because _I'm_ here and I'm a girl, but you're scared out of your mind and I can see it either way. So drop the self-righteous pretty boy act for two seconds, would you, so we can figure out what the hell to do? Because those doors are closed and they're not opening back up until after we're several times Griever meat tonight but I'm not planning on dying out here. So you better get up off your cute little ass, get your shit together, and _help_ _me."_

Finally, I release him and he falls back against the wall of the maze. There's a sadistic smirk laced on his lips and he's looking at me like he's forgotten we're in a life-or-death situation.

"You think it's cute?" He asks.

My eyes roll so hard it hurts. _"Just grab Alby."_

* * *

><p>"So, what's your name again?" Minho asks me.<p>

The sun's gone down almost completely now, veiling the Maze in an eerie darkness without any of the usual lantern-light. The rain has let up, turning into just a damp tint in the air. With my better judgment, Minho and I have decided to string Alby's body with a vine and hoist him up the wall for the night. We figured it's as good of a hiding place as any in a world of open columns and concrete.

I sigh. "You can just call me Greenie."

Minho frowns. He sits on the opposite side of Alby's body, helping me tie a bundle of vines around his torso.

"Trust me, I will. But what's your real name?"

I stop my finger work and look at him. He is nowhere near unattractive. I have never seen him smile, but I imagine it's a look that suits him better than the serious scowl he wears now. The look reminds me of Newt and his reaction to my confession about being a Runner. The Keeper meeting happened less than an hour ago, but it feels now like days ago.

"Do you think I could ever be a Runner?" I ask, answering his question with another question.

"_You? You_ wanna be a Runner?_"_ He smiles. I decide I like the scowl better.

"Why's that so bloody hard to believe?" I snap.

He shakes his head, the ghost of a smile still eminent on his features. "Something tells me you spend a lot of time with Newt."

I frown. "Just answer the question!"

"You still haven't answered mine! And I asked first," He replies.

"Something tells me that _you_ haven't made it out of a third-grade mindset."

"Just tell me your name!" He says.

"Tell me why I can't be a Runner!" I bark.

"_Because!"_ He shouts. "You're a-"

Minho is interrupted by an echoic wail, and I'm instantly transported back to the morning I saw my first Griever through that little window.

Minho's face isn't at all reassuring.

"We've got to go," He says, eyes wide.

"No, we need to get Alby up first!" I say. I watch as Minho hops up and peeks around the corner slowly. He pulls back in an instant.

"We've got to go now," He says, pulling me up by the arm.

"Then help me with Alby."

"If we stay we're _all_ Griever meat! You, me, _and _Alby!"

He's tugging me away by the arm forcefully. I grip onto one of the wall's vines and stand my ground.

"Not without Alby!" I shriek.

"Do you have a shucking death wish? Come on!" He's tugging harder now.

I can hear the stabs and clicks of the Griever and we both know it's close. But I don't understand how Minho can so easily leave a human being for dead.

"Let me go!" I yell.

He releases my arm but doesn't let me go. In a second, he's throwing my body over his shoulder against my will.

"Minho, you wanker! Stop! Put me down!" I shriek, writhing in his arms as much as possible.

"Stop!" He yells back, having difficulty trying to tame my squirming body.

"Put me down!"

Finally, he does, and the second I'm back on my feet I'm punching him square in the face. My fist hits his right cheekbone and it's unpleasant for us both.

"What the hell?" He wails, cupping his eye.

I'm sure every bone in my fist is shattered, and I clutch it to my stomach desperately.

"If you wanna save Alby so bad, Greenie, you're doing it on your own!" He says, and then he's racing down the corridor and disappearing.

"Fuck you!" I shriek at his fading back, still cradling my hand. I look back down at the unconscious 170-pound boy that I've been left alone with and listen to the incoming clicks of a monster that's designed to kill me.

"God. _Fuck me."_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I don't know if this is important, but other authors mention it in their fics so I figure I'll address it as well: for certain reasons, I'm basing the events in What Didn't Kill Me better off the movie rather than the book. I believe they're easier to write about and I've seen the film more recently than I've read the book, and so it's fresher in my mind. I hope this doesn't frustrate any of you. You've all been soooo incredibly wonderful in your reviews. They leave me beaming.**

** To answer some questions from the reviews: 1. Yes Thomas is coming later on in the place of Teresa (so there will probably be no Teresa in the fic) and 2. I don't think it rains in the Glade in the book but it rains in the movie sooo I was like hmmm imma make it rain.**

** Also, just as a disclaimer, I'm sorry if I've completely butchered Minho's character. I wanted to make this a bonding chapter between him and Jane but I just cannot seem to get into his mindset! Ergh! He's a jerk sometimes but he's really a sweetheart? And he's always serious in the Glade and rarely smiles but you know he loves you unconditionally because he's a little puppy? Would he be flirtatious with Jane or would he treat her as one of the guys? I am so confused on how to write him! Oy where's james dashner when ya need him**

* * *

><p><em><strong>(Newt POV)<strong>_

A week ago, there wasn't an atom in my body that believed in love. Maybe it was the Maze; maybe it was the Creators; maybe it was my own goddamned mind that drove me to believe such euphoria wasn't actually achievable in a world like mine. Still, I smiled at everyone. But, a week ago, I wouldn't have been able to tell you the last time I actually _felt_ anything.

But then Jane shook inside that box like a tornado on the loose, and she found me without even having to look. And I felt my heart take root in my body before I even remembered it still beat, before I even knew I still had one. She magnified the little tiny bit of good in this Glade by a thousand, but then she left it.

And it's been hours since I watched the Maze swallow her, but I haven't moved. I cannot put my finger on it, but there's something more comforting about wallowing in the wake of a green-eyed storm's wreckage, than there is trying to clean it up.

* * *

><p><em><strong>(Jane POV)<strong>_

The night has been unforgiving. After Minho took off like a bat out of hell, I'd been left alone to string Alby up the wall of the Maze. In doing this, I also had to hide myself from four roaming Grievers. Unsurprisingly, I only got the boy halfway up the wall before I decided on tying him off and hightailing it out of there, myself.

I'd already outrun two more Grievers by the time I bumped back into Minho. We literally smashed into each other around a corner as I ran for my life from Griever #3, which I was half-certain was actually Griever #1 back for revenge.

"Greenie!" He yells.

"Come on!" I waste no time in grabbing his wrist and dragging him along behind me.

"How are you alive?!"

The boy is oddly excited for someone within 40 feet of a loose Griever.

"Hurry!" I scream at him, and he finally picks up his pace until he's running in front of me.

"How do you kill them?" I yell at him, barely getting the words out between my desperate huffing and puffing. My current condition is an utter contrast to Minho's. He's making running for your life look easy, and I shouldn't waste valuable mind-space being jealous of it, but I can't help myself.

"_Kill them?_ I don't plan on ever getting close enough to find out!" He yells back. His eyes widen significantly as he glances behind us, and I look to see the Griever's already halved our head start.

"This way!" He shouts, taking a sharp left turn down a wing that's moving. I knew the Maze altered itself during the night, but it's the first time I've seen it happen before my eyes. The aisle is slowing inching itself closed as Minho sprints its length. Once he's finally reached the opposite end where he's free from the possibility of getting crushed, he turns to see I haven't moved.

"What the hell are you doing?" He shouts. His voice is so loud that I'm sure he's woken the entire Glade.

My eyes flip back and forth between the incoming Griever on my left and Minho straight ahead. My mind is racing so fast that I cannot grab hold of any rational idea, but I know I've never wanted anything as much as I want to kill this creature.

"Get your ass over here, you shank!" Minho yells. He looks like he's about to have an aneurism.

The Griever's so close that I can see each individual fang in its slopping mouth; only 20 feet away.

"Come on!" Minho shouts.

15 feet.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

10 feet.

"GREENIE!"

Just before the Griever can stab me with its metal arm, I fling myself down the corridor (which is a lot tighter than it was the last time I looked at it). I know Minho's shouting at me like his own life depends on it, but all I can hear are the clicks of the bloodthirsty monster behind me. Half a second before the walls pancake me, I leap onto Minho and send both of us crashing onto the ground. The walls behind us lock into place with a violent vibration, and then everything falls silent –even the clicking.

"I feel like I've just survived a shucking heart attack. What the hell were you thinking?" Minho shouts, as I lay sprawled atop his body. Even under the rush of adrenaline, I can feel the pain in my ribs where the stitches have undoubtedly ripped. Grunting, I push myself off of Minho and we both sit up to see bits and pieces of the Griever sticking out between the newly adjoined walls.

"I was thinking I wanted to kill it," I say.

* * *

><p>Minho looks surprised when we finally retrace our steps back to Alby. He is still unconscious, but virtually untouched, hanging off the wall like a rag doll.<p>

"I can't believe you, shank," Minho says, frozen in his spot as he gazes up at Alby. His right eye is all puffy and purple and he has yet to mention it.

"Don't call me shank," I snap at him. Just as I go to untie the vine keeping the boy aloft, Minho slaps a hand to my chest, halting me. His hand is just a bit too low for my liking, and when I look down at it, he retracts it immediately.

"Wait. Let me get this straight," He begins exasperatedly, "You're a Greenbean fresh outta the box, don't know klunk about this place yet, and somehow you're the first shank to ever survive a night in the Maze?"

"Well, technically it'd be a three-way tie between you, me, and Al-"

"AND THEN," He interrupts, clearly excited, "You go off and become the first person ever to kill a Griever, AND saved the life of a kid who probably won't even thank you when he wakes up?"

His eyes are as wide as saucers and I almost laugh at the fact that he still has enough energy to say long monologues like that without pausing for breath.

"Oh, I am so great, I am so great, worship at my feet," I say in monotone, rolling my eyes.

We go to work in silence to loosen the knot of vines and inch Alby down, but I find it difficult to move the fingers of my left hand without stabs of pain. Until then, I'd almost completely forgotten the past agony of crushing the bones in my hand after punching Minho in the face. And I don't know if Minho notices that I'm only using my right hand, but if he does, he doesn't mention it. Once the kid is finally on the ground before us, we begin untying the vines around his torso.

"I know what it is," Minho says suddenly.

I look up at him. "Yeah?"

"They genetically modified you."

"Who?"

"The Creators."

"Interesting theory," I say, smirking.

"They must've crossbred you with, like, an antelope."

I accidentally bark with laughter and slap my own hand over my mouth. "Yeah, I'm sure it was an antelope," I say.

"You know what I mean. And I hear you're super smart. So they probably programmed your mind with a whole bunch of facts after they wiped your memory."

"You hear that I'm smart but you haven't heard my name?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Mostly just hear shebean. And you know, I figure they're talking about you."

"Do you ever actually talk to people or do you just eavesdrop on their conversations?"

"Well it's not like I'm in the Maze for 11 hours a day or anything."

I look up at him to see he's already got his eyes on me. "Got time to eavesdrop, you got time to talk. Right?"

"I'm talking to _you_, aren't I?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"Glad to see all it takes is locking you in a Maze to get a conversation out of you. But this doesn't count because you don't even know my name."

He holds up a finger. "But not by lack of effort on my part."

I nearly laugh at this. "What effort? You mean asking me once and then running away like a baby and leaving me for Griever bait?"

"I thought you had a death-"

Minho continues talking but my hearing cuts out at the word "death." The word rings in my ears and my vision blacks out. Then, suddenly, hundreds of images are flashing through my mind at light speed. They're going so fast that I can only grab hold of one in every two hundred. It's over in mere seconds, and then my mind is back in the Maze and my eyes are back on Minho, who's looking down at Alby without any idea that that just happened.

Of the hundreds I saw, I could only remember four images.

The first is of an unrecognizable boy in a tank of water. His mouth is open and bubbles mostly hide his face, but I can tell he's in agony.

The second is of the same room I saw in my hallucination in the washroom, but now every chair in the room is filled. The eyes fixed on the computer monitors are glassy and inhumane.

The third is of Newt. He lays shirtless and unmoving on the floor of a white room.

And the last is of a sky with stars.

* * *

><p><em><strong>(Newt POV)<strong>_

I glance down at the digital watch on my wrist. There's two minutes left before the Maze doors open. I've been here and ready for the past hour. Cricket's here too, along with most of the Keepers and Runners. To be honest, it's quite a large gathering for something that may not even be an occasion.

Finally, the familiar boom sounds and the doors and inching outward. I am front and center and the first person to feast his eyes upon the entirely empty corridor before us.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I look down at the small boy beside me. "Told you, Cricket. She's not coming back."

And then it feels like I'm suffocating and I know that if I stand here any longer without her stupidly stubborn presence beside me, I'll shrivel up and die a hopeless romantic. But just as I turn to leave, Cricket's hand is on my arm.

"Newt," He mumbles. "Look."

"No." I don't want to look at first because I think one glance into that vacant abyss behind the doors was torture enough. But the boy is prodding me, desperately slapping his hand against my arm, and so I give in. And then I see her.

She's there. She's alive and breathing and stumbling towards the doors with half of Alby's weight over her shoulders. Somehow, all three that went in the night before are coming back out all in one piece. It's unheard of.

When I tune back in to my surroundings, everyone's cheering and ushering the three out of the Maze. The crowd is expanding as Gladers pour out of their hammocks to get a glimpse of the chaos. When they finally cross the threshold, everyone helps them lay Alby on the ground and the two victors sit back on their heels, catching their breath. Questions are being spit in every direction, but my eyes and mind are fixed on Jane.

She's the perfect example of what one should look like after spending a night in the Maze, unlike Minho. Her face is riddled in scratches, every inch of her skin is covered in dirt and sweat, and the knuckles of her left hand are bruised beyond belief, all purple and red. The colors are nearly identical to those underneath Minho's right eye.

Jane knows I'm there, kneeling right in front of her, but I can't seem to catch her eye for more than a second. She's clearly feeling distant, and I can't help but wonder if it's directed at me. Briefly, I think back to our argument during the Keeper meeting, and curse myself for acting so rashly.

Despite this, every bone in body is screaming at me to take her face in my hands and kiss the hell out of her. And I think I would if there weren't so many people around.

"Did you see any Grievers?" Cricket asks.

Jane looks up at him and almost smiles. "Yeah, I saw one or two."

At this, Minho snorts. All eyes are on him. "She didn't just _see_ one. She killed one."

The sound of every pair of eyes shifting back to Jane is almost audible. She doesn't look up, just gazes down at Alby while rubbing her bruised knuckles.

For just a nanosecond, her eyes flick up and meet mine, and I'm suddenly certain that I never want to spend another minute of my life without this girl at my side. I'm suddenly certain that I'd fall for her a million times over if the Creators swiped my memory of her every night. And, even if I cannot remember the first 14 years of my life, I'm suddenly certain that this is the closest I've ever been to love.

* * *

><p><em><strong>(Jane POV)<strong>_

I can't stand to look at Newt, and I know he knows that I'm upset with him but he still won't stop looking at me. He even follows behind as Minho, Clint, Jeff, and I walk to the Medjack hut. I try to tell myself that he's lingering because Alby, his best friend, is in crucial condition, but it's endlessly difficult when I can feel his eyes burning through the back of my head.

Jeff sits me down on a cot opposite of where Clint sits Minho down, and Alby's been laid down to suffer on a cot in the corner by two boys who leave when their duty's done, and everybody left in the room has a reason to be there except for Newt. He's hovering in the doorway, leaning one shoulder against the frame like he always does, and it's pissing me off.

"God, Minho. What'd you do? Run face-first into a wall?" Clint asks, eyeing the bruise on the boy's face before he beings tampering with it.

Minho huffs amusedly. "Nah. Girl's got a wicked left hook," He says.

"_You_ did that?" Jeff asks me. He picks up my left hand and examines my knuckles. "Not without consequence, clearly."

"I deserved it," Minho says. He continues on, relaying the events of the night in chronological order, starting with the appearance of the first Griever and his act of throwing me over his shoulder. But I drown him out after sometime because Jeff has given me some medication that's making me feel woozy and Newt is _still_ looking at me.

"Will you stop?" I say aloud, and I don't even realize that I've interrupted Minho until the mumbling in the back of my head ceases.

"Stop what?" Newt asks.

I frown. "Staring at me like I've just run over your goddamn dog."

"I'm sorry," He mumbles. His eyes are so big and his pout is so cute and I have to look away to ensure I don't crumble.

"Why are you still in here, anyway?" I ask him.

He crosses his arms over his chest and sinks his head into his shirt a bit. I look around. Minho, Jeff, and Clint are looking at him like they cannot believe that the second-in-command has yet to yell at me for my tone.

"I was worried about you." He pauses. "And Minho and Alby."

I roll my eyes. "You're not allowed to worry about Minho and Alby _now_ when you didn't even consider helping them when the doors were still open last night. You can't just pick and choose your own times to care about people, Newt."

When he straightens his back and squints his eyes, I can tell I've struck a nerve.

"What are you talking about? Alby's my _best friend,_ Jane!" Now he's yelling. "Don't you think that if there was a way for me to help him, I would've?"

"There was a way!" I shout. Pushing Jeff out of the way, I stand up and stomp over to Newt. "I tied _your_ best friend to a vine and strung him up a wall, Newt! All by myself! I saved your best friend's life! So don't act like there wasn't anything you could've done."

"I have people to protect here, Jane! You know the number one rule is to never go outside those walls. _I'm_ the one who enforces that! What kind of example do you think I'd be setting if I ran in there like you did?"

"Well you set a new example by not running in at all." I turn to the boys behind me. "Apparently, it's okay to leave two people for dead in a maze crawling with bloodthirsty monsters just as long as you follow Newt's made up rules."

I turn back to Newt. He's staring at the ground with his jaw clenched.

"You're a coward," I say.

He doesn't respond. He stares into my cold eyes for moments after the conversation is over, and then storms out of the hut completely.

For a while, I don't move at all, and no one in the hut speaks a word.

"Sorry, Jeff," I say eventually, sitting back down on the cot so he can continue working on my hand.

The dark-skinned boy looks at me for a few moments and smiles softly, then draws his hand up and wipes away a tear from my cheek. Until then, I hadn't even realized I was crying. I let out a nervous breath of laughter and look down at my lap.

"Never in a million years have I seen Newt like that," Clint says, shaking his head.

"Like what?" I ask.

"Submissive," Jeff answers.

"Newt doesn't answer to anyone other than Alby," Minho begins. "And now that Alby's stung, he's gonna be first-in-command. But you've got him totally wrapped around your finger somehow."

"It's crazy. Newt's a nice guy but he never lets people talk to him like that," Clint adds.

"Not that anybody ever does," Jeff says.

"Well someone should if he's gonna act like that," I say.

"You should cut him some slack. There's a lot you don't know about him," Minho adds, sucking in a quick breath through clenched teeth as Clint rubs alcohol over his wound.

"Newt doesn't like the Maze," Jeff starts. "He-"

"Shut up, Jeff," Minho interrupts him, his eyes like daggers.

"He what?" I ask.

"All you gotta know is that Newt used to be pretty messed up. And then he got better when you came along. But when you ran into the Maze like that and we all thought you were dead for sure, he completely shut down last night," Clint says.

I swallow hard.

"Didn't move from out front those doors 'til late last night. Just kept pulling out pieces of grass. I tried to talk to him but he didn't want to talk," Jeff says.

I make a loud noise of annoyance and fall back onto the cot.

"I am the spawn of the Devil, himself," I say, covering my face with my hands. Jeff chuckles and grabs one of my wrists, pulling me back up.

"No you're not. You're our lovely stubborn little shebean," He says, ruffling my hair.

"And you're pretty badass," Minho adds, standing up.

"And pretty sleep-deprived," I mumble as I inch my way under the covers slowly.

The noises of Jeff and Clint putting away their tools for the morning lolls to the back of my mind as the medication kicks in. Just before I'm about to fall under, a voice near my ear startles me.

"And, to answer your question," Minho begins, his face only inches from mine. "I think you'd be a perfect Runner."

I smile lazily and make a kissy noise into the air between us. "Get Newt on board and I'll kiss you for real," I say.

He chuckles and shakes his head, standing back up. "Night, Jane. Thanks for saving my life last night."

I purse my lips and turn over to face the wall. "Thanks for learning my name."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: sooo not much Newt in this chapter cause it was supposed to be mostly dedicated to building her relationship with Minho because I looooove Minho even though he's the hardest character to write EVER. But in the next chapter things are FINALLY gonna be heating up between Jewt (ew that's a really gross-sounding ship name. Nane? Ehhh) soooo stay tuned! Review maybe?**


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